


free falling (i'll rip myself apart for you, darling)

by misszuipperips



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Suicide, just a warning, michael starts going a little delusional throughout this, seriously this is not the happy story you might be looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misszuipperips/pseuds/misszuipperips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Falls at Dean's request, and the domestic life is one he cannot stand.<br/>     (the silence that fills the space where his siblings' voices used to be is ripping him apart.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	free falling (i'll rip myself apart for you, darling)

When Dean asked him to Fall and become a human, Michael felt some trepidation. Well, a  _lot_  of trepidation and hesitation. This was not a decision that could be reversed, nor was it something to undertake lightly-- but Michael knew that it would make the other happy; that it would make Dean stay by his side. Dean wouldn’t ( _couldn’t_ ) be so cruel as to leave him after Michael Fell for him!

Michael trusted him enough to accept the other’s wish and Fall. He had lived far too long already, and he already knew that he would be inconsolable after Dean’s death. He nodded his affirmation to Dean’s original question, taking a few steps away from the human. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He loved Dean, just as Dean loved him. Everything would be **fine**.

                  —Humans did always seem so  _happy_. Perhaps he’d truly be at peace if he were human; if he were like Dean (for after all, Dean was perfection incarnate)—

                      He shakily exhaled, collecting stray thoughts. He flicked his eyes to Dean for encouragement, smiling weakly.

"Whatever happens, don’t let me stop," he instructed, pride swelling up as he managed to keep his voice steady and calm. As if he _wasn’t_ worried or scared about what Falling felt like.

     He placed a hand on his chest, feeling the thrum of his Grace as he withdrew from the furthest parts of Adam’s (soon to be his; he felt a quick pang of sorrow that he’d be forcing the poor human’s soul out of existence. Perhaps it was better, considering all that Adam had been through) body into the centre of it.

            He pushed back panic, humming to himself quietly for a moment to remain calm.  _Everything will be fine_ , he told himself.  _Dean loves me, and that’s all that really matters_. With that thought in mind, he shoved his arm into his chest without any hint of hesitation. He gasped, pain ripping through his vessel. He wouldn’t die, of course, but it still _hurt_. He clawed at his Grace, his breathing harsh as he winced through the feeling of rummaging around in his own essence. _There_ — he grabbed the main cluster of his Grace, dragging it out. The sensation of his Grace being torn away from his body was agony, and he threw his head back.

                 He **screamed** curses now; cursing the sun and the sky, cursing Dean and humanity, cursing his _Father_ and himself for being so foolish. He begged for Dean to let him stop even as he tore himself apart piece by piece.

His wings flared onto the physical plane now, and they were burning. The smell of burning feathers filled the room, feathers being devoured by the hungry flames. He was screaming, falling to his knees as his once-beautiful wings dwindled into nothing more than ash.

He used the final fragment of Grace to heal himself, his arm covered in gore as he collapsed back against the ground. His vision was hazy, and he heard Dean saying something to him (something about staying awake). Michael fell into unconsciousness, feeling nothing but a vast emptiness and silence.

When he woke up, the emptiness was still there. It still dug hooks into his core and riddled his new soul with holes. He looked to Dean for guidance, covered in dried blood. Dean taught him how to be human, and Michael was **grateful**. He withdrew from the other, though. He became mindful of noise, his head silent with the lack of chatter from his siblings. The silence was the worst part, he decided. It loomed and lurched from the walls, wrapping itself around his throat as it tried to steal his voice.

Dean was _worried_ , and Michael knew that. Michael smiled around him, made himself talk to Dean as though he were perfectly well-adjusted (he wasn’t, but he knew better than to let the hunter see that). He slipped from their room at night to watch the stars; reciting the names of each and every one of his former siblings’ names. The silence couldn’t steal their voices away if he kept their memories alive.

     One day Dean found him in the middle of the night as he stared at the stars. He didn’t sound angry like Michael had expected, just worried. Michael tried to assuage his fears by saying he just missed the sky, but that seemed to make Dean feel guilty.

The silence was getting worse the longer that Michael was left alone. Dean had to get a job, had to support Michael now that he was human. Michael curled up in a seat, looking around with wide eyes as he tried to hide from the quiet. It didn’t do him any good, for after Dean closed the door with a worried look it sidled out from the floor and wrapped around his limbs.

Michael sucked in a deep breath, reciting his siblings’ names as he tried not to panic. The quiet dug barbs into his chest, tearing away at his words and worming into his core. It settled in there, ripping through his insides as he tried to ignore it. It was like a cruel reminder of what his Grace felt like, thrumming about his interior as he flitted about.

                        (He should  _never_  have Fallen.)

      Michael robotically got off of the chair, stumbling his way down the corridor and into the bedroom. He smiled absently as he looked at a photo of Dean and him, before finding the drawer that held Dean’s guns. Dean didn’t hunt any more, but he would be prepared for one if it arose.

             Michael hummed to himself (he found it was a way to fend off the silence, quietly retaliating by making enough noise to distract it), cocking the gun. He should probably write a note. He found some paper, writing a quick note. He swallowed once, eyes blurring with tears. He tried to pull himself together, dragging himself through the thick murkiness that was the silence.

Before he realised it he’d gotten a bucket of paint. He frowned as he stared at it, for it hadn’t been something he’d intended to retrieve. He returned to the bedroom with the paint, letting out a harsh bark of laughter once he realised what he planned to do with it.

                                       He quickly painted on the wall, situating himself in the middle of it with his note on the floor.

When Dean came home, he found empty rooms. He was unnerved by this, as Michael was usually making some kind of noise as he drifted from room to room.

    "Michael?" he called, worry growing. "Mike, where are you?"

             --He was instantly on alert when there was no response, starting to look through the house for the former archangel.

                            ( _Perhaps he's just asleep_ , he tried to reassure himself, despite the growing dread he felt.)

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, staring in horror at the scene that was in front of him. Michael was dead, a gun in his hands and a note on the floor. He looked up at the wall, eyes widening at the paint. Michael had painted himself some wings, sitting right in the middle of them.

   He picked up the note, stunned and horrified.

_Dean, if you’re reading this—_

_You have my sincerest apologies. I never expected it to end this way, not after everything we had. You were the best thing to happen to me. But the silence is too much. It whispered to me to do this, Dean, and I’m not strong enough to say no any more._

_I’m so sorry. I love you, my precious hunter._


End file.
